Bungabar, Bondi

As a child of the 80s I was told by television that the best way to quench a hard earned thirst was with a big cold beer. And, that big cold beer was VB. But since I was old enough to legally drink, I’ve never had the desire to reach for a cold can. Honestly, I only drink the stuff when there’s nothing else and if it’s free.

By Lizza Gebilagin

I’d rather drink cocktails in this warm weather. Ideally, on the beach served by gorgeous waiters – exactly what you would find on the Greek Islands. It might be a while until Australia takes on that concept, but until then Bungabar in Bondi will be suffice. It’s located only a short walk from Bondi Beach and has an impressive cocktail list, plus beer for those of you who were more susceptible to those early VB ads.

The cosy surf bar fits around 70 punters and features long tables that were purposely selected by owner Yossi Zamir to encourage people to make friends with strangers. The community vibe extends all the way to the menu: you can purchase jugs of alcohol and tapas to share. We start with the Jungle Juice ($20). Zamir stresses that this cocktail is the only one in Australia that is true to its original Balinese roots. He should know – he spent two years searching for the traditional recipe. He doesn’t reveal the secret ingredients, but says that the imitators use vodka, orange juice, lemonade and grenadine. The cocktail arrives at our table in a green and orange jug, accompanied by two shot glasses. My friend and I take a sip and it goes down so smoothly we argue about whether there is any alcohol in it at all.

Next up, we order tapas: garlic prawns and fiesta chicken in orange and tomato relish ($8 each). Both are delicious, but don’t go down well with the Jungle Juice, so we order a jug of Sangria ($20). After the round of Spanish cuisine and drinks, we decide to order Bungabar’s famous beef nachos ($14). Unlike your typical pub nachos, it is served with big chunks of meat and perfectly toasted chips. For desert we have a glass of the Wildberry Caprioska ($14.50).
In sporadic spurts between our gluttonous eating and drinking, we try to finish off the Jungle Juice. The attempt doesn’t go well, but I refuse to leave the bar with a half finished jug of alcohol on the table. We eventually stumble out of Bungabar, reluctantly leaving the undrunk Jungle Juice behind. But as bloated and tipsy as I feel, I’m glad we lined our stomachs with tapas and nachos because we’re now on our way to our second round of drinks at a beer festival – which thankfully is serving more than just VB.

Address: 77 Hall Street, Bondi NSW
Phone: 02 9300 6766
Web: www.bungabar.com.au

Photo by Andy Vermeulen

Who the bloody hell are you?

Do you have to love cricket, Kath and Kim and beer swilling to be a fair dinkim Australian? Or can we finally relax into the multicultural community we really are?

By Kate Gauthier

It’s interesting to speculate at what point after arrival does a person become accepted as a fully-fledged member of the community. My experience as an ex-pat in New York for six years made me realise what my immigrant dad was complaining about all those years. Americans would feel free to bitch in front of me about “wet-backs” and other immigrants “ruining this country” to someone who was basically another immigrant.

But because I was white and English speaking, they didn’t see me as such. I was immediately given the keys to the city and considered one of them, albeit a resident with a weird accent, and a penchant for potty-mouthed truths and beer swilling. It reminded me of the time when, as a teenager, I was told by a quickly discarded north-shore friend that it was OK that I was half wog because I didn’t look like it.

I often compare the behaviour of Strayan ex-pats overseas with immigrants in Straya. In NYC, many Australians will only socialise with other Aussies, so much so that locals coined the term “gum-nut mafia”.

And yet Australians have the gall to complain about people of Vietnamese background who congregate in Cabramatta. Honestly, haven’t these hypocrites ever been to Earl’s Court in London? The ground is thick with Aussies hanging out exclusively together on their European gap year. Do we expect Aussie and American workers in the oil-rich Arab states to live exactly as the locals? No. They submit to the local laws but within their own compounds they live as western as they can get away with. Why then do we have a double standard when it comes to others integrating into our culture?

Nowhere is this hypocrisy inflicted with such venom as on the newest and most vulnerable members of the Australian community – refugees.

In October 2007, former Immigration Minister Kevin Andrews said that Sudanese refugees were not integrating, citing instances of young men drinking in parks late at night and getting involved in fights in nightclubs. I would have thought this shows they are assimilating pretty well into our culture, these being the favourite activities of many young Aussie men.

The response from the African community and the broader Australian community was mixed. Some rallied around the Sudanese community, and many journalists wrote opinion pieces attacking Andrews’s comments. One letter to a newspaper stated, “I am not Sudanese. I am Australian.” This echoes the sentiments of many immigrants (or even their children) who are frustrated at being constantly identified as being other than just plain Australian: the Chinese-Australian, the Greek-Australian. Have you ever heard of anyone described as an English-Australian?

Read the full story in Corker Issue 1: Autumn 2008

Image by Kate O’Brien

Cut Off Your Hands - Say Yeah!

They haven’t even released their first LP, yet Cut Off Your Hands have already charmed the New York and London music scenes, broken limbs, and got into almost as many fights as they have piss ups. So how are the new darlings of indie rock adjusting to spiralling fame?

By Lizza Gebilagin

Philip Hadfield, bassist and self-professed number two drinker of Cut Off Your Hands, can pinpoint the exact moment when their destiny went from recording in home studios to strutting around the world in tight new jeans thanks to their Levi’s owned record label Levity. [Read more]